His Eyes At Midnight
by EyesofBahamut
Summary: The past collides with the present as some one who was a small part of Wolverine's past meets up with him again. Wolverine might be an animal but this man is a monster. WolverinexOC male x Male sorry for crappy summary rated for later chapters
1. The Chase: Chapter one

I don't own the X-men, it would be awesome if I did

Enjoy chapter one, please note that there will be Cyclops bashing, some jean hating and male on male relationships. If you don't like it, don't read it.

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Chapter one: The chase

"There are other objects or writings that put this guy as far back as medieval times." Jean grey spoke softly as her bright eyes flashed across the large screen which show cased a few photos and scanned photos of paintings, all of which seemed to be of the same man.

She sighed and combed her fingers through her fiery hair as Scott summers took up the post and continued. "During the eighteen hundreds his name was Thomas; it would appear he didn't adopt the nick name Fear until World War Two when he severed in the German army."

The tall, lean team leader turned and eyed Logan from behind the single lens of his visor, wearing the usual expression he did when ever he had to specifically address the Wolverine one on one, though he toned it down for Jean's sake.

"It looks like this guy as been there, in the background, cutting a bloody path through the centuries…He's more then likely older then you." He added with a small smirk to the feral mutant, who real age was still a mystery to them. Jean cleared her throat then and stood, folding her arms under her chest, "All we know about his powers for sure is that obviously he has regenitiave abilities, to be alive this long, and he's a powerful telepath." A visible shiver traveled the length of her spine before she continued. "Though his telepathy is more pin point and focused, it isn't like mine or the professor's, it's geared to wards people's fears, and nightmares, this includes memories. What he does with this power, we aren't sure." She paused then and shook her head; this was a bad man whose stylized image played across the computer screen.

"We want you to track him, but Logan, try not to engage him" Scott added, doing very little to conceal the almost condescending tone that laced his words. Wolverine snorted and with drew a cigar from the pocket of his flannel button up, pinching it between his teeth he turned and left the room with out so much as a backwards glance. Growling softly to himself, so as to keep from snarling at his fellow Xmen. So the hunt began.

The professor had gotten it into his mind that if he could just get inside the mind of the mutant called Fear, and then he could rehabilitate him; fix what ever was broken inside. Wolverine tried to explain that some men are just animals, but naturally neither Jean nor the Professor would listen, as usual, the mind readers were always right. Logan rolled his eyes and fished the lighter from his pocket, setting the tip of the cigar a blaze with a few puffs. Well he couldn't complain about the excuse to get the hell away from the Mansion and do a little tracking, but they expected him to bring this guy in, un harmed. That was not they way he did things.

Heavy footfalls echoed after him as he pushed the doors open to the bright sunshine of the Saturday morning, snorting faintly at the students mucking about in the courtyard. He headed for the garage, with nothing so much as a few pictures, a name and the last place this /bad man/ was seen. Oh well, gave him a reason to take the bike out for a spin.

Pulling out of the mansion gates, the bike roaring to life, Wolverine waited until the school was out of side before pulling to the side and taking out the photos of what this guy was supposed to look like.

Slender pale fingers, ending in black talons gripped a small bottle of orange juice, feeling the chill of the icy liquid as someone else might have done with a warm cup of coffee. The shadows cast by the opaque and buzzing yellow lights of the subway station played around him, like a mass of squirming snakes slithering at his feet and along the wall behind him. The black hooded trench coat he wore seemed to only help him blend into the writhing darkness, where he lingered at the far end of the terminal, hood pulled up to obscure all but his lips. Their faint tint was that of someone suffering of lack of oxygen, and they parted slightly to let the last of the orange juice flow past them.

Tossing the now empty bottle way his hand vanished into his pockets, pulling out a pair of black gloves, which he slid over his fingers, trying to mask the shape of his claws. Black cotton pants where just as nondescript as the rest of his of his attire, the only thing other then his physical appearance was the clearly military issue black combat boots he wore, with the ends of the pants tucked into the tops of them.

Turning slowly as the sound of an approaching train signaled the fast encroachment of humans the man known only as Fear have up his hiding place from the sun and headed towards the stares that lead up to the world above ground, next to a string of cafe` shops and other assortments of entertaining boutiques. Fear's two toned eyes, blue pupil-less irises on black instead of white great the sun as narrowed slits. He fished around in a pocket of his pants under the coat and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, with blue tinted lenses, a little personal joke. Slipping them on, he let his eyes adjust before shoving his hands into his pockets and moving down the street, avoiding people who passed him by, slipping through the crowd like a ghost. Turning the corner onto another street, with the coffee shop he favored in mind the rumble of a motorcycle nearing him echoed in his ears. Even if he could drive them, he liked the sleek design and speed they offered, turning his head a particularly nice looking Harley approached the intersection he was at. The rider's ebony helmet obscured his face, but Fear wasn't paying to much attention. He gave the bike an appreciative once over before heading towards his destination. The café was small and out of the way, tucked between to other buildings so it never got much business. What customers it did attract where content to have someone like Fear linger in one of its dark corner booths. It wasn't until he'd had his hand on the door to the café did he notice that particular bike seemed to be following him. Having enough experience with people following him, he knew they never wanted to play nice. As subtly as he could manage he changed his mind and headed round about back towards the subway, hoping to loose the man through those streets and finally in the darkness of the station. No such luck. Giving up on subtly he dashed down the stairs, skipping two at a time, only to hear the thudding of boots closing in behind.

Fear's movements where a spider's grace as he jumped a bench and headed for the second flight of stares, that lead to the other end of town. The unknown Wolverine at his heals. Fear burst into the daylight, surrounded by were houses and bolted for the nearest and tallest one in view. Never taking a moment to turn and see who was pursuing him so adamantly. He had to give them points, he knew he was fast, and they hadn't missed a step. Shooting through the doors and up the back stairs, two at a time he slammed through the door to the roof, ever aware of the runner close behind. He skidded to a stop at the very edge of the roof, looking down at the street below, the cars seemed rather smaller from up here. "Wait" he heard a gruff voice emanate from behind. "Ya don't want to be doing that bub."

Fear cracked a grin and turned slowly, just enough to quickly put his back to the edge before letting himself free fall into the wind. The Wolverine reached the edge too late.

Fear gazed up at the un masked man leaning down with an extended hand and a snarl on his lips as the wind whipped his own black hair out in front of him. His eyes went wide behind tinted lenses. "James?" was all he managed to mouth before he was eclipsed in ebony shadows and re appeared some six hundred feet away on top of another building. His pulse hammering in his ears he reached up and touched his talon tipped fingers to his chest, a set of scars hidden beneath the cloths. He whispered the name again, confusion and elation lacing his words.


	2. It is memorable: Chapter two

This chapter and possibly the two after it will be flashbacks. Fear's past revealed in flashes of memories, while he dreams. Then we will get back to the main story arc.

Please pardon any typos or obvious mistakes, this is not beta read.

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This story is partially dedicated to **Jackie Voltaire** seeing as I am in a role-play with here, where I am playing fear and she is playing Wolverine, so it is here Logan/James/Wolverine I based this one off of.

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**Chapter Two: It is Memorable:**

_The inn was silent; it was far too late for anyone, even the staff to be awake. Thomas' eerie gaze traveled down the hall to insure he was alone. Crossing the wooden floor to the stares, cautious with every step to be sure no sound emitted from the floor boards. His cloak swept about him, he'd left it on as a precaution. Descending two steps the faintest of sounds reached his ears, freezing him in place. Ducking down so he could remain mostly hidden and yet still scan the lower room for the source of the noise. Thomas' gaze found a broad shouldered, muscular man with his feet on the table, arms crossed over his chest. Upon a second glance he recognized having seen this man around before, though hardly of a sociable nature, there was something fascinating about this man.  
Thomas decided to take this opportunity as it was presented to him, moving down the steps and crossing the floor though the tables and chairs to the far corner, which was lit by the dim light of an old covered bulb. Pulling his hood over his face to conceal his eyes he approached, lips parted to offer a greeting. That same sound emanated from the man, softly, hardly audible. He was a sleep; Thomas couldn't help the small almost mischievous smile that crept onto his lips. He noticed then how the gruffer man's eyes danced, almost frantically behind his eyelids. _

_Thomas stepped closer, moving to stand directly at the stranger's side, gripping him by the shoulders in hopes of waking him and thus freeing him from the prison of his obviously unpleasant dream. He gave the man a shake, "Sir, wake up." His voice though hardly loud managed to hold a commanding tone that trailed on its edges. The man's eyes flew open, but remained unfocused as he lurched upwards from the leaning back position of his sleep. With a vicious snarl he wheeled on Thomas and struck! Thomas' eyes traveled down seeing the triple spears of bone embedded almost to the knuckles, jutting out from the man's hand and into his own chest! He tried to speak but his voice choked in his throat, coming out in a strangled gasp. Thomas locked his demonic gaze with the other man and watched as those deep blue orbs cleared and he felt the bone daggers slide from his chest. His knees gave out and the shorter man's powerful arms where all the kept him from hitting the ground with a hard thud._

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The stranger lowered him to the ground, those dark blue eyes staring down at him with obvious panic, dancing over his face for a moment before focusing on the bloody wounds in his chest. The man stepped around him, in what appeared to be a frantic search for a way to stop the bleeding. Thomas' pulse hammered in his ears but he still managed to hear the man's whispered voice. "Oh god, I've killed him..." The voice was rough, like it was meant for growling rather then speaking.  
Thomas coughed, his gaze on the other man's back as he searched. He could feel the deep wounds in his chest knitting together slowly, the muscles healing before the flesh over them. He rolled over onto his hands and knees, rising on gloved hand to his chest to trace the now raised scars where holes once where, his gloved claws came a way with blood but no wound remained.  
He pushed up from the floor, his hair falling into his face, doing much of the job the hood of his cloak had before it fell back with the impact of the impalement. Standing he leaned on the wall closest to the table the stranger had been sitting at and cleared his throat. Finding his voice he spoke. "You owe me a drink for that, stranger" He whispered, though he knew the other man heard him seeing as he spun on his heel to face Thomas with wide eyes.  
Thomas tugged at the torn ends of his shirt revealing the scars rather then wounds with a half smirk, flashing fangs for a moment. After his astonishment wore off the man heaved a sigh as if this whole time he'd been holding his breath and shook his head.

Thomas approached with more caution this time and held out a hand which was taken in one of the other man's larger hands and shook firmly. He returned the tightness of the grip with a grin, minding his own concealed claws on the man's sun loved flesh. Not sun loved in such away as to imply that this man lounged about soaking in the bright rays, but tinted as if he had worked long hours outside, which seemed to be the case giving the roughness of his hands.  
The stranger seemed to appreciate the firmness in Thomas' hand shake and offered a crooked grin of his own. Agreeing in a gruff voice to buy Thomas' a drink as payment for the new scars he wore on his chest.  
Thomas smirked and introduced himself. "Thomas Wolf, pleasure to. Meet you" He added a small raise of an eyebrow to imply that he was not usually stabbed on the first meeting. He headed back to the small table and pulled out a seat, gesturing with a sweep of his slender fingers that the other man should sit as well.

"James, Howlett" was what he heard reach his ears from behind as the now claimed James took the seat opposite him.  
After much time in quite conversation, mostly about the fact the both men where as James put it. "not human," and as Thomas affirmed. "More then human" they managed to order their drinks when the bar staff returned. The night carried on in much that fashion, ending in both men sitting on the floor of Thomas' inn room, with cards and some money played out before them. Neither could become drunk, not with out cleaning out the tavern at the very least so it was with good humour that the two relied on to color the mood.


End file.
